


And He Blew Van Owen's Body From There To Johannesburg

by LadyLustful



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Enemies, Hate Sex, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mercenaries, Multi, Oral Sex, Promiscuity, Rough Oral Sex, Shay you slut, Slash, Unhealthy Relationships, experiment with writing format, possibly inaccuracy, scar kink, think Rogue meets Metal Gear meets a porno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLustful/pseuds/LadyLustful
Summary: Modern Mercernary AU. Shay Cormac, a young Irish-American soldier of fortune, finds himself falling for, and into bed with, his brother in arms, the mysterious, abrasive, and drop-dead gorgeous Native American Swift. But when they find themselves on opposing sides, will either of them survive it?





	And He Blew Van Owen's Body From There To Johannesburg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts), [Assassin_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/gifts), [flannelmoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelmoth/gifts).



> I would like to note that this fic contains:  
> 1\. A Native American character written by someone not Native American  
> 2\. gay porn  
> 3\. straight porn  
> 4\. kinky porn of either above variety  
> 5\. violence  
> 6\. violent sex  
> 7\. foul language  
> 8\. general assholery and bastardry  
> 9\. possibly grossly inaccurate portrayal of any person or thing portrayed within it;
> 
> Also, the characters are assholes because it advances the plot; I am trying to make them realistic assholes but they are NOT real people nor should they be read as representing real people, groups, organisations, etc.
> 
> I chose to call Kesegowaase "Swift" in this fic, since it is a literal translation of his original name into English, and just happens to work extremely well as a surname.

Prologue  
**Explosion in the Dark**

"Come out, traitor", called out the Native American mercernary as he stalks silently through the brush. Shay could just see him in his mind, an angry, haughty dark-skinned man, face camouflage-streaked and black hair in a single braid far too neat for a war zone.  
"Let's see if you look as pretty on my knife as you did on my cock."  
Shay, crouching behind a pallet-sized rock ejecting a magazine from his pistol cursed under his breath.  
"What's he talking about?", asked Haytham with an impassive look.  
"Trying to rile me up."  
"Is there anyone in your former merc outfit that you haven't slept with?"  
"Achilles. Chevalier. Liam, if cuddling and handjobs don't count.”  
"..."  
"So what? I like cock. And I like cunt. And I like to pleasure people, any people, any way known to people. 'S no harm."  
"I never said it was", responded Haytham levelly, arching a brow.  
"Come out, whore. Gonna play with you, and then I'm gonna play with your new master and let you watch."  
Shay risks a peek around the corner of the rock, ducks right behind it in time to avoid being shot, noticing with no small deal of satisfaction that his pursuer is standing right in the blast radius of the charges they set. He taps Haytham's arm to get his attention, then presses the button on the radio transmitter. As both men cover their heads and try to make themselves as small as possible, a mighty series of explosions rocks the steep hillside, earth shaking and debris flying.  
  
**Fucking New Guy**  
several years previously  
  
"And that's Swift, our stealth expert", explains Hope pointing at the last person in the room, a broad-shouldered man of average height dressed in desert camouflage. "Shay Cormac, the new guy." And Shay stares, because the guy is mouthwatering, in a classically Native American kind of way. Caramel skin, midnight-black hair, bone structure to make a sculptor weep.  
"Nice to meet you."  
The man gives Shay the barest nod, lips narrow and eyes unfriendly, and goes back to the disassembled Glock in front of him, and Shay updates his opinion of him to handsome asshole.

 **You tried to kill me, sent a shiver down my spine**  
the present  
  
The next time after the explosion they meet in New York, in a bar that doesn't pretend to be anything it isn't. Shay first notices the jacket, an old beige leather number with fringes that looks like something that Ozzy Osbourne might have worn in his younger years. Then he recognizes the other things - the skin tone, the familiar magnificent jawline, the black hair loosely pulled back with a scrunchy, the ramrod-straight back and broad shoulders. From the back of his neck up toward his face spreads a sprawling network of brand new, pink scars, narrow cuts and the broad, twisted tongues of burns, and Shay can't help but stare, wonder how they would taste and feel under his tongue, whether they would be more or less sensitive.  
Of course, Swift notices, stalks over with murder in his espresso-dark eyes and scarred lips pressed into a narrow angry line.  
"Enjoying your handiwork?" The "asshole" remains unspoken.   
"You're still pretty. Come outside and I'll show you how little I mind the scars."  
"Like that matters. You'd fuck anything with a mouth that says yes, wouldn't you?"  
"True. But you're pretty enough to make me put up with your asshole personality."  
"Go fuck yourself and die."  
"Yes to the former, no thanks to the latter. I'd rather fuck you."  
"You have no self-respect, have you?"  
"Not when it prevents me from getting my dick wet, no. And let's be honest, you wouldn't care if I did."  
In the end they do end up leaving together. Swift can't have gotten laid since the blast because he is more sensitive than Shay ever saw him. He gasps when Shay runs his tongue over the scars, moans when Shay unzips his pants and grips his dick, bites his lip through the entire brief time Shay jerks him off, alternating between licking, teasing his scars and whispering how pretty he is; the hard, wiry frame melting into a stance of relaxed pleasure, whole body loose except for blunt-fingered, gun-callused fists gripping Shay's jacket for dear life.  
But his eyes are still cold and hard when he straightens up after his orgasm, making to dismiss Shay without so much as a thank you, let alone any pretense at an attempt to reciprocate.  
"Not finished with you, darling", Shay stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "You can't have been getting much recently. So, I figure we should go somewhere quieter where I can suck you off and you can fuck me properly. Or you fuck me first, and then I suck you. Either's fine, as long as I get your cock in my mouth and my arse."  
And then, he licks the cum off his palm. 

 **TNT  
** several years previously  
  
The first time Shay sucks Swift off is in the cargo hold of a transport plane, amidst boxes that smell like TNT and cordite beneath the ubiquitous scent of machine grease and dust. They are headed for a mission, with four hours-ish to go, and Shay's way too wired to sleep properly through the wait without getting off at least once. So he sneaks off with Swift under the pretense of checking their equipment, pins him against a stack of crates of explosives, kisses him because god, the guy's got an awfully pretty mouth, way too soft and pink for the cold, hard, unrepentantly ruthless bastard he is. So Shay kisses it, captures the lower lip between his teeth, teasing it with blunt little bites that _feel_ more than they hurt, licks at it, enjoying the smooth texture and gentle give under his tongue. And then they break for air, and Shay gets a good look at him, just to commit the sight to memory - clean-cut features thrown into sharper yet relief by the play of dim, amber light and dark shadow, narrow, surprisingly soft lips parted and wet with Shay's spit, eyes the colour of black coffee half – lidded.   
"Not sure if you look like a wet dream or a national treasure."  
"Shut up and suck it."  
So Shay does, going down hard with barely a moment of hesitation. He finds out with pleasure that Swift's a vicious lover, holding him down and pulling his hair and fucking his mouth brutally. And Shay's grateful for the heavy cock on his tongue, for the way it gags him and turns the mortally embarrassing nonsense that would surely be spilling from his mouth into inarticulate moans and vibrations that only seem to spur Swift on. By the time Swift shoots off down his throat, Shay's jaw is sore from the rough thrusts, his lungs burn for air, and his cock hurts with the need to get off, the rough brush of his pants providing just enough friction to tease and torture him. There are tears in his eyes and a string of cum and spit connecting his lips to Swift's dick when he pulls out. It only takes Shay a few pulls of his own hand to spill over the floor, slumping with his face against Swift's fatigue pants.  
He is vaguely aware of everyone else staring at him when they get back, Hope with brazen bright-eyed curiosity, Achilles with vague disapproval, Chevalier with a sort of smug contempt.   
"Hey, how much did he pay you for that?", the Frenchman asks. "Or do you do that for free?"  
"Not for you, Chevalier", croaks Shay. "I don't do six-foot dicks. No offence to cocks."  
And then he falls into his seat and sleeps until touchdown.


End file.
